When You Come Back Down
by Pearl Emerald
Summary: Set post-"Wilson's Heart". House wakes up from the coma, but not to the scene he expected. It's a completely different plot than what the season finale implied. Implied HxCuddy, but not pronounced. PLEASE REVIEW!


Disclaimer: You recognize it, chances are pretty high that it ain't mine, but that it belongs to FOX. Title is the title of a song by the outstanding group Nickel Creek.

A/N: I don't know about you all, but I cried during the season four finale. So I couldn't sleep, and I wrote this instead. It's slight House x Cuddy, but, as he's essentially paralyzed, there's nothing either of them can do that elicits an "M" rating. Thoughts are italicized, as usual. This is NOT a songfic; I just thought the title was appropriate. Also, this piece necessitates a HUGE _todah rabah/ muchas gracias/ thanks_ to my mom, for being an idea-bouncer-offer, and a generally big helper with everything. So, this is for her.

**When You Come Back Down**

He knew he wasn't dead, because it wouldn't have hurt if he was. It was a hurt akin to the perpetual ache from the leg muscle removal five years prior, except whereas that pain was concentrated in one part of his body, Greg House felt this pain all over his body, though particularly severely in his head. He opened his eyes, squinting as the faint light in the hospital room hit his corneas. As he opened his eyes, Greg realized that he was almost completely incapable of moving any of his limbs. Besides the pain, residual stiffness had set in from lack of use.

_So I'm about as useful to myself as a secretary without hands._ Most _excellent. _

The physician part of Greg's mind kicked in, trying to mentally assess the damage to his body without being able to move anything besides his eyes, as well as trying to remember why exactly he was in a hospital bed instead of out on the floor alongside his little ducklings.

_Pain unrestricted to a specific area, lack of ability to move most of my body, I don't _feel_ like I have a fever but I can't judge that very well for myself. It feels like there's a large lump attached to my torso. And…oh, great, I can hold my bodily fluids, but I can't get up to release them. And here I thought I wouldn't need Depends for at least a decade. _

After a few moments Greg made an intrepid attempt to raise his arm, which failed. However, when he tried to pick his head up he succeeded, but his head ached too much to maintain that position for long. Next Greg tried to move his legs, which proved a near-substantial success. It was then that the lump attached to his torso moved, making Greg jump inwardly but only twitch externally.

He realized that the lump was a body, specifically a _derriere,_ and as he tilted his head ever-so-slightly he caught a glimpse of a swath of brown curls.

_What the…?_

Greg struggled to make sense of what someone with curly brown hair and a shapely rump was doing in his bed, especially his hospital bed. Once he recalled the only person he knew in possession of both physical characteristics, he moved his left arm a little, trying to nudge her to wake her up.

It worked. Lisa Cuddy, former one-night-stand and current Boss Overlord of Gregory House, opened her eyes and rolled over so that they were facing each other. Rather, her face was in his chest, but as he couldn't move and she could, so Lisa moved over. As her face moved near his, Greg could see that her eyes were red-rimmed and flecked with red lines. He had only seen her thus on a few precious occasions. And, discounting the Health Inspector's surprise visit which almost cost her job, and Greg's mess of firing Chase and the backlash from _that _catastrophe, the only times he'd seen Lisa this upset had been the four times when he was in the hospital, seemingly about to die.

_Fifth time's the charm?_

Greg drew breath, about to explain everything to her and apologize, when he was prematurely silenced by Lisa's arms gently wrapping around him, hugging tight enough to be significant, but not tight enough to dislodge any of the myriad tubes connected to his body.

_Yep, this is bad._

She let go, and Greg saw the tears streaming down her face.

Very _bad._

He tried to lift his arms to hug her back, but they hurt too much. Greg let her hug him for a while longer, but then he started to wriggle slightly and she let go. Getting up from the hospital bed, Lisa straightened her shirt and hair, both disheveled from a night sharing cramped sleeping quarters. She pulled the chair in the corner close enough to the bed so that she would be able to stretch a little. Lisa grimaced as she sat down, rubbing her right shoulder, which clearly had knobs of twisted flesh paining her. Greg watched her, and practiced breathing slowly enough to prevent pain, but enough to gather substantial air for speaking.

He tried once. "C-C-C-C." Failure. But she did look up at him, concern narrowing her eyes.

He tried again. "Cuh-Cuh-Cuh." Failure again.

A last attempt. "Cud-Cuddy." Finally, success. His vocal cords worked a little, though his voice, like the rest of his body, was slow from lack of use.

He took a breath. "Cuddy. I am. S-sorry."

She frowned. "You shouldn't be talking. Try to rest."

"No!" He stopped, short of breath. "Amber."

Now Lisa was confused. "What about Amber?"

"She. D-died. My f-fault."

Lisa felt his forehead. "Well, your temperature's normal, but you seem to be having delusions in spite of that. I don't know what you're talking about, but I am _never_ giving you ketamine again."

Greg tried to sit up. "L-Lisa! She. Died."

Lisa shook her head. "House, Amber is fine. She's actually been in to see you a few times. She even stopped by _without _Wilson in tow."

Greg slumped, if one could call a slight relaxation of the limbs a slump.

_What the HELL. Amber is _dead_. I diagnosed the techochardia from the amantadine pills, and she died because of its non-protein-binding properties and lack of filtration ability. She had no chance of survival._

Greg attempted to contemplate how Amber Volakis could have possibly survived, but no alternatives came to mind. So he did the obvious. He asked Cuddy.

"What. Hap-happened."

Cuddy took a breath and started to fiddle with her hair. It seemed she didn't want to answer, but she did.

"Amber took quite an injury from that bus accident. She had a damaged liver and kidneys, and we discovered that she was taking amantadine pills, as a type of trial run for a potential flu cure. She, however, suspected that the pills weren't working, and so we tested them. It turns out they were chemically composed of _sacchari lactis_."

House groaned. Lisa started, but he shook his head a tiny bit.

_Sugar pills. They gave her a placebo. Figures. Of _course_ there's no real cure for the flu._

"Should I keep going?" she asked. House nodded a tiny bit. Lisa took a breath.

"Because her liver and one of her kidneys were compromised enough, she needed a transplant or she would have died. Wilson turned out to be a match-" (here Greg snorted) "-so he donated a kidney and part of his liver. We tried surgery, and the remaining part of her liver responded decently, so she will be all right, in due time."

She paused, not wanting to tell him what was wrong with him. It was different telling a patient that he would need surgery, or that he was terminal. It was different because, of course, despite how cliché it was, and despite his biting sarcasm and how he ticked her off, all of the stupid things he'd done to endanger himself and his patients, and how he had almost died five times already, she still loved him. Lisa had never given much thought to the part of the wedding vows she could have once exchanged, when she was engaged. _In sickness and in health. _No, she never had thought about that part until now, 

when her day was spent worrying over the one person she to whom she would get married, let alone pursue any kind of romantic relationship.

Impatient, Greg rolled his eyes. A bit. Noticing this, Lisa bit her lip. She'd have to tell him _someday_; it was better that she tell him everything sooner rather than later.

"Um, your case is a little more complicated. You had a seizure. Complex partial. And a brain bleed. And you were in a coma for about a week." She spoke quickly, hoping the sting of the words' meaning would go away faster if she spoke rapidly. "We all came to see you as often as we could. We're not sure what triggered it, but I would guess that something in your memory of the accident from that deep brain stimulation Wilson suggested. I would also guess that Wilson feels a _tiny _bit guilty, because he feels that he caused this."

Lisa stopped, seeing Greg in tears. She wasn't sure whether it was pain, humiliation, anger, or any combination of the three. She gently stroked his head, and held a tissue to his nose. He blew, making the sound of an angry duck. She giggled awkwardly. His crying slowed, and she wiped his face. He didn't want to know any more, but Greg had to know.

"Am I. Going. To be. Oh. Kay."

The role of nurse no longer necessary, Lisa sat back and started to play with her hair again. "We didn't think so at the onset, especially when we observed the brain bleed and the strength with which your head struck the floor. But now, I'd say a seventy-five to twenty-five percent chance that you'll be fine, but with the odd migraine from time to time. It's going to take at least three months before you regain use of your joints. We've also shifted your caseload and notified your parents, even though we told them you can't see visitors for a while longer."

"Is that. True."

Lisa looked guilty. "Well, no, not exactly, but we figured that it would be easier on you and would detract from the anxiety I'm sure you're feeling to begin with."

"We?"

"Your team. Both of them. Wilson. Me. Not Amber, obviously, because she was still recovering."

Greg was almost overcome again. "Thank. You." They'd done so much for him, even though they should have been royally ticked at him for firing them, or being generally abrasive. Damn Cameron, her faith in a person's inherent goodness had finally been proven.

Lisa felt about to cry herself. She hated getting weepy at work, especially when she was around House. It was ridiculous, really. He harassed everyone around him with a multitude of seemingly sincere threats and abuse, and never before had Lisa Cuddy been as affected as she now was by the two words House had just uttered.

Seeing that he had upset her, Greg made yet another valiant effort to get up, but she waved him off. Lisa folded her arms across her chest and shifted her eyesight from House, not wanting to look at him. Greg gave up trying to lift his arm, and instead slid his hand slowly over to her leg. His hand found her kneecap, and it squeezed lightly. Lisa started, and looked down at her knee before looking back at House. She stood up.

"I should go. You've heard enough in ten minutes to make whatever part of your brain that hasn't already been damaged spontaneously combust." _And I need to get out of here before I lose it completely._

Greg patted the bed next to him with the hand already there. He looked plaintively up at her. "Please don't. Leave. Me."

Lisa sighed. She glanced at her watch, weighing her options. On the one hand, it was eleven at night, she needed sleep and food, and she needed to go home and change before her next shift as Chief Babysitter of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. On the other, it was eleven at night, the hospital was deserted, House was alone, and _she _would be alone if she went home.

Biting her lip and setting her beeper to a slightly softer alarm, Lisa chose the second option.

"All right, but you have to rest, and if anyone tells me I need to leave you alone, or if I'm paged, I'm going to go." As she spoke, Lisa removed her shoes, her jewelry, and her wrinkled oxford shirt, leaving a tank top and her pants on. She adjusted the dosage of pain medicine on his IV, and then carefully leaned into the bed, minding the numerous tubes sticking out of House's head, torso, and abdomen. She lay on her side facing him, and tentatively put an arm around his midsection. She breathed in deeply a few times, and managed to calm herself marginally.

Greg shifted his head slightly, just enough so that it touched hers. He had missed her, despite the Allison Cameron debacle and his less-recent relationship with Stacy. It wasn't just on a physical level, although the compliments he continually lavished upon Cuddy's posterior _were _an accurate representation of his feelings in that regard. It wasn't just the fact that she put up with his occasionally outrageous behavior, although he gave her brownie points for that. It wasn't just that she was the only woman whose intelligence and brass ones matched his. It was all three, and, damn it, he missed it.

He blinked. This had to be the drugs. Withdrawal from Vicodin and ketamine, and morphine added to his system. It was a wonder he wasn't hallucinating. Greg checked himself. Was he? He bit his tongue.

_Guess not. But this would have been one dream I could have done without. _

Noticing that the morphine had not yet begun to kick in and that House was still awake, Lisa mentally tossed around a few ideas for coercing his mind into sleep _sans _medicine, and decided to sing to him. In her current state, she had no idea what to sing, but after a moment recalled a lullaby her grandmother had sung to her in Yiddish as a child. Something about the teacher instructing students in the alphabet, and that they should not forget the words, or they would forsake their people. It was a mournful tune, as with many Yiddish songs, but she figured it couldn't hurt.

And so she sang softly to him, removing her hand from his waist and gently stroking his hair. Slowly getting drowsy, Greg internally observed her voice.

_It's too bad she screeches all the time. After five minutes of this, even that asshole Tritter would calm down._

He slipped back into a light slumber.After a few verses, Lisa couldn't remember any more of the song, and was worried, until she noticed that House was asleep. She looked down at him, and gave a tiny smile. He looked so vulnerable like this, asleep, almost like a child and almost like an adult. She kissed his temple and whispered in his ear, "Good night". Lisa slowly nestled down into the bed next to House, laced her fingers in-between his, and drifted off to sleep.

It was thus that Wilson found the next morning, but he didn't wake either of them. Truth be told, he thought, there was no better medicine for House's head than the comfort only Cuddy could offer.


End file.
